That Didn't Count
by fifthofnovember
Summary: House returns and enjoys the comforts of home. A bit light-hearted, but is still SLASH, so be warned and mind the rating. Spoilers for Both Sides Now. Ch 3 now up.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** **Don't own House, Wilson or any other character. David Shore et al do, I'm just helping out since I don't think you can broadcast **_**this**_** on FOX. **

**A/N: Look kids, slash! This is my first slash fic, I think it's decent, but then again, I would or I wouldn't have uploaded it. Your mileage may vary, so constructive and polite criticisms and suggestions are always welcome. Contains *******spoilers******* for the S 5 finale "Both Sides Now" so if you haven't seen it and don't want to be…well…spoiled, watch first and read later. Also, if graphic man-love isn't your thing, you probably want to hit your "back" button now. Enjoy and remember, reviews are love and food for the muses. **

_That Didn't Count_

It didn't count. Not really. If they'd done it intentionally, or been leading up to it, or anything at all, it would have counted. But none of those had happened, and so it didn't count. At least, that's what James Wilson tried to tell himself as he straightened his clothing in the pitch blackness of the room. Apparently it also didn't count if you didn't turn on the light.

He'd missed House. That was no secret to him or anyone else. He hadn't realized how much House had been a part of every little aspect of his life until he'd been gone, and then he realized that for as much as House infuriated, frustrated, and annoyed him, he missed his meddling and intrusions. It was House's way of showing he cared, and that Wilson was important in his life too. That was just the way it worked for them. And then House had not busted into his office, Cuddy had, and House had followed, but not giddy or smug and certainly not alone, and they'd taken what Wilson had been almost sure would be their last drive together. But it hadn't been. So he'd gotten a little over-emotional or….something.

It had started innocently enough, as these things always do, that is, Wilson mused, if they occurred often enough between men and their best friends to have an established pattern. He'd picked House up who, of course, didn't talk at all about anything that had happened in the psych hospital, just grinned a smug grin, chirped "All better" and gotten into Wilson's car. Of course Wilson knew better than to pry. He just hoped that House was telling the truth about the "all better" part because he really didn't feel like having to go through all of this again.

They'd gotten back to House's apartment where House rapidly unpacked his sparsely packed suitcase while Wilson opened a couple of beers and ordered Chinese. House joined Wilson in the kitchen and drained his beer in two swallows, then opened another one.

"If you keep that up, you're going to be plastered before the food even gets here," Wilson warned, reprising his usual role as House's caretaker.

"Let's hope so. In case you didn't know, they don't serve beer in the wacky factory, Wilson." House drained the second beer in three swallows, and that was the first and last mention made about the "wacky factory." Wilson handed him another beer, glad that House appeared to be House again and realizing he didn't care too much if he decided to get spectacularly drunk. He probably deserved to.

When the food arrived, the two men set about catching up on House's TiVo – or rather House set about catching up on his TiVo and Wilson chose not to complain about it. He was happy just to have House by his side on the couch again, laughing, drinking beer, and gossiping about the hospital. Things were back to normal, at least for the moment, and that's all there ever was with House; one moment at a time. He'd known that even before House had started hallucinating. Of course there were a thousand questions in Wilson's mind, but he knew he wouldn't be getting the answers tonight, if ever. Tonight, House just wanted things to be like they were, or to at least pretend that they that way.

Too bad that wasn't going to happen, although neither of them knew it as they started on fresh bottles of beer. House would later say that Wilson had known, he must have planned it, but Wilson swore otherwise and even though House never believed him, he was telling the truth.

It happened right after the last episode of SpongeBob. That should have been proof enough right there that Wilson hadn't planned anything of the sort. He'd just looked at House seated to his right, taken the last swallow of his beer, gently squeezed his friend's knee and said "I'm glad you're home." House, true to form, would later accuse Wilson of groping him, and Wilson, true to form, would accuse House of goading him, but the fact of the matter is both men were blaming the other because neither knew for sure how it happened. It hadn't been on either of their minds.

Still, the next thing either knew Wilson really was groping House, staring into his hypnotic blue eyes as his hand crept up his best friend's thigh, seemingly with a will of its own, until he started to wonder if he had the same condition House's last patient had had before he went to the… House had seen Wilson starting to think about… and kissed him to distract him from overanalyzing House's "hiatus", because as everyone knows gay sex is a much better alternative than discussing your mental breakdown with your best friend, or discussing it at all, for that matter.

All House knew for sure was that he was out of his mind horny. In addition to no beer in the nut hatch, there was also no intermingling of the sexes allowed (not that House would have wanted to "intermingle" with many of the women in the facility anyway, and the nurses didn't seem too receptive to the idea of fraternizing with mental patients) and precious little privacy for a man to even spend a quality moment with himself. Wilson's hand in his lap, kneading the erection he'd managed to get in record time only registered to his body as a hand in a spot he desperately needed to feel a hand, and better yet, it wasn't his _own_ hand. The fact that it was the hand of his best friend, the hand of his _straight _and very _male_ best friend in his equally straight and male lap, didn't seem significant enough to worry about when compared against how good it felt to be touched.

Wilson honestly didn't know what the hell he was doing or why, and despite how wrong he knew it should have felt, it didn't. It felt good. House's strong arm between his shoulder blades and the large, masculine fingers threaded through the hair at the nape of his neck most certainly did not feel wrong. They felt different than any woman's touch had ever felt, but they felt fantastic too. It felt like House was inviting him and urging him on, capable of either accepting him or rejecting him, an equal partner rather than a smaller, weaker partner just waiting to be taken, although Wilson gave serious consideration to taking him anyway and then wondered where _that_ thought had come from too.

It was the first time in Wilson's life where he probably should have been thinking and wasn't. House, for his part, had made a near-conscious decision not to think, realizing he was slightly drunk and more than slightly turned on, which was exactly the right mix of sensations to decide that if Wilson wanted to give him what he needed, it would probably be a good idea to seize the moment and take it. Of course, that whole internal monologue reached Wilson's ears as "Wilson…._god_" with a thrust of House's hips into Wilson's hand for good measure, but when Wilson didn't move his hand away, it was clear to both of them that he'd pretty much accepted the entire scenario too, at least for the moment.

He'd been too busy up until this point watching House slowly come unglued and trying not to freak out to notice if any of this was having any effect on him or not. Hearing his name on the lips of his best friend turned his attention to the fact that it was, and in short order.

He mumbled "oh fuck it" to nobody in particular, surrendering to the fact that he was already jerking House off through his pants, had already let House kiss him, hot and deep and slow and he'd _liked_ it, and even if they stopped right this instant, it wasn't as though there would ever be any undoing what had already happened. His fingers moved to the buttons of House's jeans and opened them, then slid the zipper down, and after making a mental reality check that yes, he really was about to shove his hand down House's pants, he felt House turn and lean back against the arm of the couch. It didn't seem like he was pulling away, but it made Wilson's reality check that much more real.

"What?" It was the only question he could manage.

House rolled his eyes. Typical Wilson. Always picking the worst possible moments to want to have a conversation. "If you're about to do what I think you're about to do, which I think is a reasonable assumption as evidenced by…" He gestured to the breached fly of his jeans. "I wanted to relax and enjoy it. I also didn't want you snapping your wrist in the process, and since I know there's no way you're going to be able to bring yourself to actually take my pants off, it wasn't going to work sitting up."

"So you want me to…" Wilson couldn't bring himself to say it, even though he had been about to do it, and was still, in all likelihood, probably going to do it. Had House not been so worked up and Wilson offering a much better prospect than his own right hand, House would have strangled him. The man could be so _obtuse_ sometimes!

"Of course I want you to." He reached for Wilson's left hand, pressing it firmly back where it had been, forcing Wilson up onto his knees in order to be able to make the reach. Wilson had, because of this interruption, been shocked both into reality and a bit out his body at the same time. He was doing this. He was really doing this. He'd never even entertained the thought, at least not in anything more than a generic sense. Like most heterosexual people, he'd occasionally wondered what it might be like to be with a man, but he had no intention of actually doing it. Now, here he was, doing it. With House. House's hand moving against his reminded him of where and when he was, and when he looked up at Wilson with a pleading, lust-drunk stare and breathed "Just touch me. Please touch me." Wilson suddenly realized he _wanted_ to do this. With House.

He'd been stalling, not really sure how a first homosexual encounter was supposed to work; if it was like the straight kind, only with two penises instead of one, or if other things were expected or not expected, but the moan House rewarded him with when he finally circled his fingers around a cock other than his own for the first time told him he might have a shot at figuring it out. Wilson still didn't feel too confident, in fact he felt like a virgin again, almost too in the moment to even enjoy the moment and feeling like he should get out of the moment, too, because he had no idea what to do, much less what to do next. He knew what he liked but that didn't mean he had the first clue what House liked, because, if he went by his [extensive] experience with women, they'd all liked something vastly different despite having the same parts. He flashed back to that first night in the back seat of his first car with is first girlfriend, talking about second period math class while he finger fucked her, hoping that maybe if he talked about math, they could both pretend that what was happening wasn't really happening and therefore, not have to deal with it. Too bad he and House had never had a class together, and that he wasn't 16 anymore. He had no excuse to be rotten in bed, even if it was his first time with a man. So he wasn't going to be.

He moved his fist slowly up and down House's length, getting a feel for the thickness and weight in his hand. House softly moaned his approval at the much-needed relief his friend's touch promised, and the affirmation of House's pleasure spurred Wilson on. He was now absolutely determined to make House's eyes roll back in his head. He ran his free hand down House's chest, fighting the urge to touch his bare skin, and felt him arch slightly into the contact. "Tell me how you like it, House. Tell me what you need." Wilson was surprised at the camber of his own voice, low and husky as it bounced off the walls back to his own ears. He saw House's Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed, preparing to speak, saw his eyelashes flutter open and then closed again, thinking, looking for his voice. "Little…tighter" was all he could muster up, but it was plenty for Wilson. He cinched his grip tighter around the throbbing cock of his friend, and heard his partner groan in appreciation.

Wilson felt one of House's hands settle on his hip. He startled, unprepared for the contact at first, then welcoming it, knowing it was natural for House to want to touch him too, be connected to him somewhere. He felt the tension in House's fingers as they pressed into the cloth of Wilson's suit pants and wondered if it was arousal or nervousness, or both. With the circuit of energy between them now completed, Wilson felt the urge to be closer to House too, but resisted, even though he wondered why. Apparently jerking another man off wasn't gay, but wanting to press his body against the aforementioned other man was? Still, he held off, not wanting to shock either one of their minds into realizing what they were doing.

He sped up his pace a little more and felt House's hips twist in response. "That feel good?" Wilson still couldn't get used to the sound of his own voice, but he wasn't totally repulsed by it, either. He felt the hand on his hip squeeze and release and then hold on tighter. "Yeah…Jimmy…need this…" "Dear lord,this is so hot" Wilson thought at the sight of House desperate and shameless and begging him for pleasure. It also didn't go unnoticed by Wilson that House had moaned out his name, his first name, and not just his first name but the affectionate, familiar version of it. He ran the fingers of his free hand softly, reassuringly down the taut cords that stood out from House's neck. "I know you do. I know…it's OK". And to Wilson, it really was OK. More than OK. If this was House's way of seeking comfort and acceptance or if he was just desperate for physical contact, Wilson didn't know and didn't really care. Just seeing House so vulnerable, relying on another to provide him with what he wanted, let Wilson know that whatever it was he was seeking, he obviously needed it badly. That made Wilson feel honored in some off-handed, backwards way; honored that House was letting it be him that he was vulnerable in front of, even if it did involve him wrapping his hand around House's cock.

Wilson rubbed his thumb over the soft, sensitive divot just above House's collarbone before taking his hand away and moving to put it back on the arm of the couch, where he'd been balancing himself. House, however, must have read Wilson's earlier thoughts. Before Wilson could react, House's hand closed around his wrist and pulled his arm away from his body, forcing Wilson's weight to fall against him. There was a moment of awkwardness and discomfort as Wilson's hand lost its mark and House's breath got knocked from his lungs, but it was worth it as Wilson did what came naturally, shifting his weight so that they were both comfortable, Wilson's left leg between House's, propping himself up on right elbow. Wilson was struck by how intimate and close this felt, even though both of them were still fully dressed.

Wilson, fueled by House's assertiveness and the heat between them, stroked House harder, faster, rougher, driving him closer and closer to the edge with each twist of his fist, each firm, tight down stroke. He felt House thrusting his hips up into each of his motions, not even pretending to hold back now, and he didn't protest as he felt House's arm wrap around him and his other hand go to Wilson's belt buckle and fumble with it. He simply shifted his weight to the side to give him more room to work. Exchanging handjobs with your best friend also didn't count if you didn't unfasten your own pants, Wilson guessed, drawing up unwritten and unspoken rules as they went along so that he could allow himself to enjoy this rather than worry about what in god's name they were going to do after it was over.

The alarm bells in Wilson's head finally started going off as he felt House's long, nimble fingers wrap around his engorged cock. It was one thing to provide comfort to a friend, even this kind of twisted, awkward, _gay_ comfort, it was entirely another when it wasn't about comfort and need any more and the friend became a partner and started reciprocating. Wilson was, by nature, a caretaker. House's hand on him made this about something more than him taking care of House, although he had no idea what.

"House!" Wilson half-hissed, half-exclaimed as House's talented hand ran up his swollen sex organ. Wilson's mind panicked as his body rebelled and thrust his hips forward into the warm friction of House's fist. It felt good, too good, and he wondered – no – was almost sure House had done this before, he was too good at it, this was all too easy for him, and then he panicked some more, wondering why he even cared if House _had_ been with a man before or not. "House…I." His voice was losing its conviction as the pleasure of another perfect stroke overwhelmed his senses. "Want me to stop?" Wilson couldn't answer. He did want House to stop, this changed everything, but he didn't want him to stop, it just felt so ungodly _good_. "Just say the word, Jimmy. Say 'stop' and I will. But you like it too much to say it, don't you?" House's fist slid up Wilson's cock again, this time slicked with precum, making the friction tight and impossibly smooth. And sweet happy Jesus, the sound of House's voice was intoxicating. "House…I…shouldn't. This…Oh _god_" Wilson almost whined with pleasure and the conflicted emotions in his mind as House's fingers found that perfect spot just below his head on the next up stroke and pressed just hard enough to make Wilson's eyes cross.

And that was it. House had won, again, although Wilson wasn't even sure what he had won, exactly, because no criteria for victory had been defined between them, nor had any contest. But Wilson knew just the same House had won as his hand pumped him smoothly and rhythmically. "Good, isn't it, Jimmy?" House was still trying to get the admission out of him that he wanted this as much as House did. Wilson whimpered in the back of his throat and ground himself into House's hand. "Don't tell me to stop. I don't wanna stop." House's voice was just above a whisper and an octave lower than it normally was, the very pitch of it sending shivers down Wilson's spine. He rested his forehead on House's shoulder, unable to hold it up under his own power any more. "Not gonna….tell you to stop." He took a couple panting breaths, trying to make up for the oxygen deficit the effort of speaking had created. "Don't stop. Please don't stop." He felt House reach up and gently stroke his hair before gliding down his back in a gesture of pride and comfort. "That's it…I won't, Jimmy. I won't." House's arm wrapped around Wilson's hips, driving him harder into his hand, encouraging him to take everything House offered and he complied eagerly, pushing into the slick, tight heat of his friend's hand, moaning with the pleasure and effort.

House arched into Wilson's hand, still wrapped around his cock, but which had stilled when House's hand had closed around him. "Come on. Finish this with me." Wilson resumed the rhythm of his hand and felt House's head drop back against the throw pillow, subtly thrusting his hips in time with Wilson's strokes, his breath gravelly and thready and strained. "So good, Jimmy…your hand feels so good." Wilson knew that from tonight forward, he'd always smile and blush whenever anyone called him Jimmy. House's arm around him tensed as he got closer, speeding up and shortening the motion of Wilson's hips, making the whole thing that much more urgent. House arched harder into his hand, his shoulder blades coming off the couch. "Harder…close…so close" Wilson happily obliged, tightening his grip to the point where he could barely move his hand and picking up the pace as much as he could in the confines of House's jeans. Wilson raised his head to look at House out of desire and curiosity and saw his eyes cinched shut tight, every muscle in his body thrumming and straining. "That's it Jimmy…that's what I need…that's i…aaaaaah". Wilson felt his hand wet and warm a split second before House's fist squeezed him almost painfully tight and he was coming too, coming before he even really realized it was happening, burying his head in the crook of House's neck and gasping.

And then it was "after".

Neither man moved long after both of their breathing had leveled out and their hearts had slowed down. Hands and arms and heads remained exactly where they had been in that final ecstatic moment. And then the silence became too much for Wilson. With a rustle of a napkin from the Chinese they'd eaten earlier and a zip he cleaned up and straightened his clothes. He stood for a long moment with his hands on his hips before turning to House and muttering "I'll see you tomorrow then?" House, as confident and detached as ever replied "Yep" in lazy, sleepy voice that further drove home to Wilson what had just happened.

Wilson closed the door and got in his car, supposing that if you didn't take your clothes off, turn on the light when you left, or talk about it, it didn't count. He straightened his hair in the rearview mirror and decided he wouldn't worry about tomorrow because after all, tonight didn't count.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: This chapter got a little longer than I'd planned and went in a slightly different direction. I still hope you enjoy and while I've left myself with an opening to continue at the end, I may or may not depending on how well this is received. **

**2**

In some ways, Wilson was much more neurotic and obsessive than House. House was obsessive, sure, but it was more a facet of his personality than a reaction to any given situation and so, it was constant. Wilson, on the other hand, was consumed by things that deviated from his status quo. Things like, oh…say, homosexual encounters with his best friend. Homosexual encounters he couldn't stop thinking about, and not just in the upsetting, neurotic way.

He just didn't know what to say or how to approach it. For all the "just go talk to him/her/them" and "communication is a good thing" advice he'd given to House and anyone else who had asked him (or not asked him, as it were) for advice, the advice wasn't so easy to take when he was the one in need of it. So he didn't take his own advice, and did everything in his power to avoid House. House, of course, did everything in his power to run into Wilson. He didn't force him to actually speak, just made sure that Wilson was well aware that it was House's choice to allow himself to be avoided by Wilson rather than Wilson's attempts at avoidance bearing fruit. House sauntered past the cafeteria while Wilson ate lunch and gave him a smile that outside observers might have even described as warm. He strolled past the room of one of Wilson's patients, and had left the bathroom just seconds before Wilson came in. Wilson was grateful for the space, or at least House's rendition of giving someone space.

The space was closed as Wilson heard the unmistakable rap of wood against wood as House knocked on his door that night. Avoidance wouldn't work. No matter what excuse Wilson could ever try to come up with, he knew that House knew he was at home and not answering the door would make everything even more awkward than it already was and yes, Wilson realized, that was actually possible.

"Come in," Wilson said as he threw the door open and moved to reclaim his seat on the couch, although the invitation was a formality as House was already through the door before Wilson could utter the words.

"Hungry?" House asked as he sat down, propping his cane on the couch and putting his feet up on the coffee table, just like he had done a thousand nights before what happened between them had happened and as he obviously planned to do for a thousand more nights.

"I could eat." This whole routine was beyond familiar to Wilson. House shows up uninvited, suggests food, chooses which food is ordered, and then Wilson pays. They go about watching TV or a movie, or playing cards, or discussing a case. After that, the one who visited leaves, or if House is too drunk to go home or Wilson is having relationship problems, the visitor sleeps on the couch. The predictability should have been comforting to Wilson. Instead, tonight, it was strangely unsettling. He was slowly coming to realize there was such a thing as _too_ normal, although there wasn't much he could do about it; he still had no idea what to say.

"Thai, Chinese, or pizza?" Wilson was seriously beginning to wonder if he'd imagined the whole thing and if he'd be next in the funny farm. House was too detached, even for House. He had to be screwing with Wilson, enjoying watching him squirm, knowing he was dying to say something about the previous night but unable to do so.

"Pizza I guess. The usual. Half sausage and half pepperoni. And House? Don't say you want sausage again and then end up eating half of my half, leaving me with only sausage. I hate sausage, which I'm sure you know, and that's why you do it. If I'm buying, I'm eating." _And I can't seem to shut up, either_, Wilson thought to himself.

House fished his phone out of his pocket and started scrolling through his contacts for their usual pizza place. He had just hit 'send' when Wilson interjected.

"House….would you…just wait a minute, OK?" He couldn't stand it anymore. His mind was reeling, and he wasn't in a mood to be toyed with.

"You want Thai instead, don't you? I knew you wanted Thai. You should have just said so right away." House snapped his phone closed with an over-exaggerated flourish and an over-dramatic sigh.

"It's not about food. It's about…" he took a deep breath and forced himself to verbalize it. "It's about last night."

"What about last night?"

Now it was Wilson's turn to sigh, although his was genuine. "What about it? _What about it_? House, we…I…I mean…was that?" His mouth continued to move although no words came out. House looked at him with an expression somewhere between exasperation, amusement, and self-satisfaction.

"Was it what, Jimmy?" House feigned innocence as he stressed his own personal pet name for Wilson just enough to make him blush.

Wilson sighed deeply. Even this routine – this argument, this cat and mouse game – was familiar, even though the subject matter certainly wasn't. "Nevermind, House. Forget I said anything."

"OK." House flipped his phone open again. "Do we want a medium and some garlic bread, or should we just get a large?" Wilson blinked in disbelief. He was _still_ going to order pizza?

"House, we need to talk about this." He put his hand on House's phone and flipped it closed.

"No, _you_ need to talk about this. _We_ need to eat. "We" is comprised of more people than "you", so majority rules. Let go of my phone."

"After we talk." Wilson stared House down for a long minute, House analyzing Wilson's eyes, and finding them genuinely confused and maybe even a bit troubled, so House, although he'd never let Wilson know it, backed down, just this once. He may have liked to fight, but he also knew how to choose his battles.

"Fine. What would you like to talk about?" He cocked his head at Wilson with exaggerated interest, and folded his hands primly in his lap. "I'm all ears."

"House. I'm trying to be serious here." House didn't change his position. Wilson sighed again. "Last night…was that…a mistake?"

"You mean, was it a mistake as in 'I intended to do it, but now I regret it' or was it a mistake as in 'I have absolutely no idea how my hand ended up down your pants'?"

"Either. Both." Wilson became even more convinced that House had been with a man before. He was just too cavalier about all of this.

"Neither. Can we eat now?"

"I'm not sure how I feel about it."

"How about you get back to me when you come up with something? I'm _hungry_ here."

"Wait. Neither? So you don't regret it, and you meant for it to happen?"

"Wilson, Christ! I was lonely. Horny. A little drunk. You were any or all of those things. Don't make this into a big deal. We did what came naturally. _Eating_ is natural too. Give me my phone back. _Now_."

"Don't make this into a big deal? House, what we did is _not_ natural!"

House leaned back and smirked. "Not natural? Why Jimmy, I'd have never pegged you for a homophobe. Especially after last night."

"I'm not a homophobe. I'm just not gay."

"Neither am I. What's your point? And need I remind you that your hand was on me _first_? If anyone should be having a problem with this, it's me. But I'm not. So why on earth are you?"

"House, for god's sake, stop oversimplifying this. I'm not having a problem with this. It's just that what happened was –"

"_Simple_, Wilson. What happened was very simple. You're the one complicating things. We both wanted something. I wanted to get my rocks off, and you, as usual, wanted to take care of someone. I just happened to be the one nearby. But when it comes down to it, we both obviously wanted the _same_ thing or it wouldn't have happened the way it did. It has nothing to do with being gay or straight and everything to do with being human, with the natural human drives. You know, sex, shelter, companionship…_food_! One encounter with a man doesn't make you Queen of the Oncology department, after all what's-his-face who did all the sex surveys said that most people aren't completely straight or completely gay anyway, that sexual orientation exists on a continuum. So congratulations, Wilson, you're normal. I know how that fact must irritate you."

Wilson was quiet for a while, processing, while House simply watched him analytically. Seeming to concede to House's rationale, or at least to keeping it in his mind for later consideration, Wilson's thoughts turned to other aspects of the previous night's events. He looked at House questioningly, almost analytically himself. "Did you like it?"

"Are you honestly that much of an insecure people-pleaser, Wilson? Of course I liked it. That should have been obvious."

"I'm not insecure, I just –"

"Want to know if you were any good?"

Wilson flushed slightly. House always had a way of reaching into his innermost thoughts and dragging them into blinding, revealing daylight. "Well…yeah." He smiled sheepishly.

"You were fine for your first time with a man. I'm assuming it was your first time with a man, by the way you're coming undone about the whole thing."

"I'm not coming undone, House…but it was." The question hung in the air, unasked. "It wasn't yours, though."

"No. But you already knew that."

"Yeah."

The silence was more contemplative than awkward. House spoke first. "Aren't you going to ask?"

"Not sure I wanna know."

"Why? Did you want to be my first? Such a sentimental fool, Jimmy."

"No. I dunno. I just…well, if you've been with men before, and I was with you, doesn't that kind of make me…" Wilson trailed off, not sure how to say it.

"Gay by proxy? Maybe if I were gay, which I'm not. I have the feeling you're not either, Mr. Four Ex-Wives and God Knows How Many Nurses. Some things just feel good. It doesn't define anyone as anything except someone who likes things that are pleasurable. And maybe if you'd stop trying to categorize things, you could enjoy it a little more."

"I could enjoy it a little more? You mean you…want it to happen again?"

"I wouldn't really mind if it did, if that's what you're asking." House shrugged casually and unaffectedly.

"Ho_kay_." Wilson raised an eyebrow. "About that pizza." He flipped open House's phone and looked for the number he'd dialed before Wilson had interrupted. Now House put his hand over Wilson's and shut the phone.

"Didn't _you _like it?"

Wilson couldn't meet House's eyes. Instead he looked down at his own lap and started to play with a loose thread on his pants. House's voice snapped him back into the moment, allowing him no escape.

"Well…?"

"It just happened so fast."

"That's not what I asked. Did you like how it felt? My hands on you…your body pressed against mine? You must have. You didn't even try to stop me."

"I told you, it – "

"Wilson." There was sharp, insistent edge to House's voice. "Yes or no."

That thread sure was interesting all of a sudden. His voice broke and failed twice before he could bring himself to answer, surrendering more to himself than he was to House. "Yes. Yes I liked it." He finally raised his eyes to meet House's and saw the glint of satisfaction in them, but something softer too.

"Then we agree." House had made the inductive leap without having to ask the question. Wilson didn't avert his eyes. "So here's what I propose since, once again, we seem to want the same thing, and you're hell bent on talking about it. For tonight, I'm yours. I will do or not do anything you ask; you have my word. If I can't be trusted for anything else, trust me on this. I only ask two things of you: First, no pity. Don't do it to make me feel good, do it because you love the way I make you feel. I don't want you to simply accept this, I want you to _like_ it. Second, you get me off too, I don't care how. Deal?"

A cacophony filled Wilson's head. Could he really trust House? He seemed sincere enough, but then again he always did. He wondered if he could let go enough to consciously allow himself to like another man's hands on him, another man's mouth. House's hands and mouth, no less. And would he know what to do, _really_ know what to do, when the time came for him to reciprocate? All those doubts, fears and concerns were weighed against the memory of how good House's hand had felt on him, strong and sure and perfect, so perfect he'd lost his voice, his mind, and his will with every smooth, tight stroke. No woman had ever touched him like that, he'd never even touched himself like that. And like a would-be addict getting his first taste of his drug of choice, he wanted more. But…

"Deal." He'd agreed before he knew the word was out of his mouth. "But I'm trusting you. Don't make me regret it."

"Oh, you won't." There was lust and smugness in House's voice as he sat up straight on the couch and scooted over. "Lay back. Get comfortable."

Wilson did as he was asked, propping up two throw pillows behind him and laying on them, semi-reclining, stretching one leg out along the back of the couch and resting the other over the edge of the couch on the floor. His eyes were riveted on House, who moved over closer to him, initiating the first contact between them with a gentle hand on Wilson's shoulder which squeezed comfortingly before gliding over his collarbone to the third button of his shirt. House's eyes never left Wilson's as practiced fingers guided that first button through its home, his knuckles grazing Wilson's smooth chest.

"House, wait…I'm…I'm really nervous." _Because this counts_, he thought. _This is discussed and agreed upon. This cannot be passed off as an "accident". And __**that**__ changes everything. _

"I know." He sounded patient and reassuring and Wilson had a hard time remembering that this was House. "I just wanna touch you, OK? I won't do anything else until you say. Whatever you want, remember?"

"OK." Wilson seemed to relax a little at House's reassurance, letting him open his shirt one button at a time, watching Wilson's reaction at each step, then slowly slipping his hand under the cloth, moving it aside to have full access to Wilson's chest and stomach. House's hand was warm and dry and softer than Wilson had anticipated it being as it slid, fingers splayed, down his breastbone to his navel, House's thumb tracing the soft path of dark hair there before starting back upwards, turning over, knuckles softly grazing Wilson's nipple before fingertips skated gently up the side of his throat and ran back down, feather light and teasing against his skin. Wilson kept his eyes open but tilted his head back ever so slightly, hoping House wouldn't notice, not quite ready to surrender and give in yet but still wanting more of the soft, tickling touch of his fingers that sent shivers down Wilson's spine. House edged closer to Wilson, bracing his free hand on the couch to the side of Wilson's ribs. Wilson didn't pull away but didn't press closer, not ready yet to admit to himself that he'd made up his mind. Still, House considered Wilson's lack of hesitation progress as he ran his hand back over Wilson's chest, which was warm and slightly damp from nerves.

He ran his fingers gently through Wilson's hair, which House had always secretly envied, enjoying the thick, soft texture while his nails gently scratched his friend's scalp. He traced the outline of Wilson's ear with his index finger and felt him shiver, watched him blink, trying not to close his eyes and give over to pleasure, trying not to trust completely. Running his nails lightly down the side of Wilson's neck earned him a sigh that the other man tried to catch in his throat but didn't entirely succeed at doing. House did it again and Wilson turned his head to the side, eyes still open but averted away from House, not wanting him to see the pleasure in them. Again, a little harder, and the pulse under House's fingers sped up. He moved his hand to the other side, using the back of his hand gently against Wilson's chin, wanting Wilson to look at him again. He trailed his fingertips lightly over Wilson's jaw, tracing random, slow patterns over the hollow of his throat and finally Wilson closed his eyes and allowed himself to focus only on the shocks and tingling that ran up and down his spine, raising gooseflesh on his arms.

"House…" Wilson's voice was soft and shaky from a mix of nervousness and arousal. House looked at Wilson, never taking his hands off of him. _Don't tell me to stop, don't tell me to stop, please don't tell me to stop_ was all House could think. He was enjoying this too much, enjoying watching Wilson pass through every subtle stage of consent, excitement, nervousness and trust too much to want to call a halt to it now. "House you…can kiss me if you want. Just keep your mouth above the belt, OK?"

"Fine. But if you knew what my mouth can do, you'd regret saying that." He leaned forward, knowing exactly where he wanted Wilson to feel his mouth first. He brushed his lips gently over the pulse point on Wilson's neck, the spot he'd already figured out was most sensitive. Wilson arched his neck slightly, giving House more space, inviting firmer contact. He parted his lips and planted slow, gentle kisses all along the line of Wilson's throat, feeling rather than hearing him whimper, still trying to hold back. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Wilson raise his arm at the elbow, wanting to touch, to hold onto his lover somewhere, but afraid, afraid of the feel of unfamiliar male arms and male shoulders and male muscles under his fingers. House redistributed his weight, leaning closer to Wilson and turning on one knee, not resting his body against Wilson's yet, just offering himself up, making it that much easier for Wilson if he decided to get over his fear. And House, if he was honest with himself, really, really wanted him to get over it. Whether he was with a man or a woman – and he'd been with exponentially more women than men, although he would just let Wilson wonder about the numbers for a while longer – he always loved the feel of his lover's hands clutching at his arms, fingernails digging into his shoulders, a hand at the back of his neck holding his mouth where it felt the best. Those were the little things that drove him crazy, and he wished more than anything that Wilson would swallow his nerves and touch him, somewhere, but he wasn't going to force him.

Instead, House focused on driving Wilson crazy enough that he'd eventually do it reflexively. He ran his tongue slowly and then even slower up Wilson's neck, letting the heat and moisture permeate his senses. He kissed and nibbled lightly along Wilson's jawbone and marveled at how smooth it was, wondering if Wilson could grow a beard even if he tried. Wilson's breathing had both quickened and deepened, his eyes were shut and his lips were just barely parted. House brushed his own lips again Wilson's, testing, seeing if Wilson would recoil from or welcome the contact. They'd kissed the night before, once, but he wanted to see if Wilson would do it again once he had time to actively think about what was happening between them. He didn't pull away, so House pressed more firmly. His friend's mouth yielded under the pressure, allowing House's tongue inside. The kiss was short but hot and seemed to cement some sort of unspoken agreement between them. Separating their lips, House's mouth caressed the other side of Wilson's jaw and made it's way up to the outer margin of his ear, making him shiver again.

"So…" House whispered, barely audible, even so close to Wilson's ear.

"What?" Wilson's voice had gained no strength, but betrayed more passion and less nerves now, although the nerves were still there.

"I can put my mouth anywhere I want, so long as it's north of the border?"

"Yeah."

"What about my hands?" House punctuated his question with an open-palmed swipe over Wilson's erection. Without Wilson's consent, his hips arched into the brief contact and his nerves awakened all at once, wanting more pressure and more friction. He hadn't even been aware of how hard and aroused he was until House had touched him. His response hadn't gone unnoticed by House, of course, who started to firmly but slowly stroke him through his pants, teasing the outline of his cock with his fingertips. Wilson whimpered, a sound of both desire and resistance, and he almost physically felt his brain join the missing person's list.

"House, wait. I don't thi-INK…" his words were cut off by a firm, demanding squeeze of House's hand. Wilson's head dropped back against the throw pillows and he gasped to catch his breath as House continued to rub and stroke him through two layers of fabric. He could feel dampness pressed against his skin, almost ashamed that he was this turned already – and by a man. That thought just wouldn't leave his mind. But it just felt so good. So god damned good. House knew just how to touch him and he wasn't even technically touching him yet. He felt the other man's hand pressed flat and tight against his length while he swiped his thumb again and again over the leaking, sensitive head of his cock. Gender be damned, he wanted that hand wrapped around him with nothing in the way, he wanted to feel the heat of flesh against flesh, wanted to push himself into the welcoming tightness of House's hand. _House's hand_. There was that thought again. But it had felt so fantastic the night before, and he wanted more so badly, so much it hurt, but he didn't _want_ to want it, and –

House slid the heel of his hand slowly and firmly up Wilson's cock and Wilson curled his spine into the pressure. "Mmmmmnn…._nooo_," he whined, wanting more, needing more, but wanting to stop, wanting to find a way to not need it.

"No? No what?" It didn't help Wilson any that House's voice had taken on that husky, cocky, controlling and oh-so-fucking-hot pitch that had driven him crazy the night before. "You don't _really_ wanna stop, Jimmy, do you?" House's fingers went to Wilson's belt buckle as he rained hot, gentle kisses over Wilson's chest. Trying to catch Wilson's eyes, House slowly, painfully slowly, tightened Wilson's belt and slipped the catch out of the hole, then just as slowly slipped the free end of his belt out of the buckle. With the same deliberate motions, he unbuttoned Wilson's pants, drawing the act out, reducing it to steps instead of a single action, making sure Wilson felt everything he was doing. He was intoxicated with lust and power now, more turned on by watching Wilson fight with himself than he could have been by anything else Wilson could have done to him at that moment. His fingers went to Wilson's fly, making sure he pressed his knuckles hard against the erection that throbbed and ached under every motion. As he pulled the zipper down tooth by tooth, he leaned forward and made sure Wilson felt his breath against his skin, made sure he knew what House planned to do.

"Oh god…oh House…don't, please…don't" and then he stopped pleading, at least pleading for House to stop as he felt the moist heat of House's tongue on his nipple, making it contract and harden and send a fire bolt straight to his groin. House made sure to suck and lick and bite until Wilson stopped pleading entirely and was just struggling to breathe. His fear of touching another man had also been forgotten. Without knowing he'd even done it, he'd laced his fingers through House's hair, his thumb rubbing the back of his neck, encouraging him, silently begging him not to stop.

"Still want me to stop?" House whispered against his friend's scalding skin. Wilson's zipper was now defunct and House's hand was that much closer to giving him what he needed, having reduced the amount of fabric between them by half. House shifted on the couch, finally letting his hips rest against Wilson, who by that time was too far gone in pleasure to care. He just relished the heat and pressure of a body pressed against his and wrapped his arm around House's ribs. "Didn't think so. Besides, you came in my hand not 24 hours ago. It's a little late to back pedal now. By the way, do you have any idea how hot you got me last night? You're so much sexier when you're not thinking." He rolled his hips against Wilson's thigh, trying to take some of the edge off his own need, achingly hard at the memory of how uninhibited Wilson had been with him the night before. His motion pressed his hand tighter against Wilson, who cried out and nearly sobbed with sensation and need. "God…Jimmy…just thinking about it. You know, you practically shoved my hand into your pants and started fucking my fist before I could even get my fingers wrapped around you."

Wilson wasn't sure he'd actually done that, but what he was sure of was House was doing an excellent job of talking him off. He squirmed against House's hand, remembering how tight and good that hand had felt around him last night. He wrapped his arm tighter around House, clawing at the thin fabric of his t-shirt, wanting something to hold onto. House pressed himself harder against Wilson's thigh, not sure he could wait his turn and let Wilson get off first like he'd promised, especially with the way Wilson was breathing and straining against him. "Do you want it that bad tonight? Want me to get you off now as much as you did then?"

Wilson was broken, desperate. He couldn't take any more of this teasing. "More," he breathed out between deep, strained respirations. He was breathing so hard his hands and his cheeks were tingling. "I want it more."

"Then tell me how. You can have anything, remember?"

House's hand was still working Wilson over through his boxers and he couldn't breathe and talk at the same time, so he put his hand over House's, holding it still long enough so he could get some blood to his brain and air to his lungs. "Do what you did to me last night. Stroke me off again. But slow this time, so I can feel everything. Take your time. Tease me."

House settled back and tapped Wilson's hip. "C'mon. Up. Give me some room to work." Wilson lifted his hips and let House skin his pants and boxers down over his hips. He ran his fingers lightly up Wilson's thigh, knowing he wanted this desperately, but he was still nervous and he didn't want to shock him with too much sensation too fast. His fingertips just brushed Wilson's waiting cock when he heard "wait".

Forgetting Wilson wasn't used to being waited on and taken care of, House thought he'd reconsidered at the last possible second. He ghosted his fingers down Wilson's shaft, making sure to keep him hot and needy. "It's OK. Just relax. I want to –"

"No, it's not that."

"What then?" He curled his fingers loosely around Wilson's cock, teasing him with a few too slow, too loose, too soft strokes, hoping to make him want more. He really _did_ want to do this, he wanted to drive Wilson absolutely out of his mind and prove to him this was a good thing.

"I…I want you to…" House didn't know whether Wilson was fumbling with his words because he was hesitant to ask for whatever he wanted to ask for or because House had tightened his grip considerably and was stroking Wilson with a torturously slow rhythm.

"Anything. No matter what it is. Ask me for _anything_, and I'll do it. Just like I said I would."

"Take –" Wilson swallowed hard as his voice cracked again. "Take your shirt off too. And I…I want you close to me. Next to me."

House let go of Wilson's arousal just long enough to slip his shirt off over his head, and considered for a moment explaining to poor nervous Wilson about all the chemicals and pheromones and biological reasons why it was normal to want to feel skin against skin, especially at a time like this, but in actuality he was just glad he'd get to feel Wilson's body tense and taut against his at the moment he made him come. He rested his bad leg over Wilson's thigh and settled on his left side, close but not quite touching yet, wanting Wilson to reach for him, which he surprisingly did without hesitation, curling his arm around the small of House's back, tentatively stroking and exploring. House shifted again and Wilson tried to bite back the sigh of satisfaction that involuntarily escaped as he felt House's body solid and warm against him. This felt so much better than it had last night, when they'd both been fully dressed, and even that had felt pretty good.

As the contact between the two men started to affect them both, House wrapped his fingers around his eager partner again, pumping him slow and tight until he started to thrust and arch his hips opposite House's expert strokes, and then stopped until Wilson whimpered and begged and squirmed for more. If he wanted to be teased, House was going to tease him until he was insane with need and then just a little more for good measure. He gripped Wilson tightly, not allowing him any friction as he undulated and rocked his hips, his desperate moans and whines driving House crazy with his own desires, teasing himself as he teased Wilson, amazed and drunk with the power that he could reduce cool, rational, straight laced James Wilson to a begging mess whose entire world revolved around House's right hand.

"House….more…please more."

He gave Wilson three or four long, slow strokes. "Yeah…ahhhh."

"That what you want?" He closed his fist tight again, closing extra hard around the base of Wilson's cock, making sure he not only wouldn't come, but couldn't, but House almost came in his pants as Wilson clenched his eyes shut and bit his lip. "Yes…oh god…oh _fuck_ you're good."

House relaxed his grip a little and started to move his hand again, not stroking, just tracing every line and vein he felt under his fingers, letting Wilson come down a little, which was almost impossible since he was so sensitive to the slightest touch.

"House…you said…anything I wanted, right?"

"Anything."

"I want you…to…talk to me. Like you were…before."

He felt Wilson's breathing fall out of rhythm and stopped again, holding him tightly in his fist. With is free hand, he brushed the sweat soaked tendrils of hair off of Wilson's forehead. "Anything you want, Jimmy". The heat between them was palpable. He was driving Wilson out of his mind and loving every second of it. He couldn't resist leaning in and biting that sensitive spot on Wilson's throat, murmuring in his ear "You're so fucking hot this way. You're making me so hard begging like this."

Wilson jerked his hips against House's hand, reacting to his words, moaned a guttural, primal moan deep in his chest and his arm left House's back, searching for the proof of what he'd said. It was House's turn to whimper as Wilson's hand cupped him through his jeans, enthusiastic but clumsy as his own arousal robbed him of his coordination. House loosened his grip and started stroking Wilson again, heard him breathe "yes" through his teeth as he throbbed in House's hand, so close to the edge he could see it, but House still refused to take him over. "Please…anything I wanted…you just said…" House knew he was torturing Wilson, that all it would take would be one or two good, hard strokes to make him come, but he also knew he _was_ doing what Wilson wanted.

"You told me to tease you." House smiled against Wilson's throat, hearing and feeling the whimper he made in response to House's words, knowing he was right. "Besides, I like touching you. You're so hard, even harder than you were last night." House slid his fist inch by inch up Wilson's whole length, base to tip, taking a full minute to complete the trip, listening to Wilson moan almost the entire time. "Like this? Like what I'm doing to you?"

"Love it…"

"You don't know what you're doing to me too, Jimmy. Beg me some more. Let me hear how much you want it, how good I make you feel."

"I just wanna come…please. Make me come. Your hand…i'so good. I can't take it any more. Please. _House_."

"Mmmm…" House pressed himself into Wilson's palm, aching and throbbing himself. "I love it when you moan my name." He thrust harder. "Can you feel that? Feel how hard I am? That's all because of you…god I can't wait to have your hands on me."

Wilson, as if on command, fumbled with House's belt unsuccessfully, which made him cry out in frustration and look up desperately at House who, meanwhile, was turning his fist loosely and slowly over the head of Wilson's cock, making him weak with pleasure, unable to make a sound. As House backed off again, Wilson's hand started to move against him again. "Please" he heard Wilson breathe and looked into his eyes, which had turned nearly black with desire. "Please let me touch you too."

As much as he hated to take his hand off of Wilson, he wanted Wilson's hand on him more. Rolling to the side a little bit, he unbuttoned and unzipped his pants and worked them down just as Wilson's were, then took Wilson's hand and pressed it against him. Wilson eagerly wrapped his fingers around House's erection and started to stroke, remembering what House had liked the night before…tight and hard. He watched House carefully, measuring his reactions. House swallowed hard and relaxed against Wilson again, who was grateful for the returned contact. "Fuck…oh fuck, you know what I like," House groaned out through clenched teeth. Wilson smiled pridefully. The caretaker in him still wanted to make sure that he made House feel as good as he felt.

House moaned and thrust into his hand as he engulfed Wilson in his fist again. He held Wilson's cock loosely, feeling too good himself to have much strength and knowing that Wilson was a lot closer than he was, and he had plans.

He focused his energy, trying for a while to take his mind off of what Wilson's hand was doing to him and pumped Wilson's cock with long, tight strokes, watching his eyes close and the cords in his neck stand out. Wilson's fist remained tight around House's erection but he'd stopped pumping, instead letting House thrust into his hand, and wrapped his free arm tightly around him, moaning "good" and "please" and "Oh House _now_", which was almost House's undoing right then and there. He let Wilson go right up to the edge, right to the point where his breathing became ragged and short, his moans were a mix of ecstasy and pain and he thrashed his head from side to side – and then stopped. Wilson nearly screamed with frustration and need, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes because he'd shut them so tightly.

"Jimmy," House said gently. "Look at me." Wilson opened his eyes, but they'd barely focus. House turned his head toward him and kissed him gently. "You wanna come bad, don't you?" Wilson just whimpered and tried to move against House's hand; just another stroke or two and he'd be there. His brain and his nerves were on fire, focused on one thing and one thing only. "Answer me."

"Yes…so bad...more than anything. _Please_."

"And I want you to. I want to hold you tight against me, feel your fingers dig into my skin, hear you scream my name. I _really_ wanna hear you scream my name. And just think about how good it's going to be. You're going to come so hard. Can't you almost feel it already? Think about it…that second when you first start to come…think about how damn intense that's going to be for you after being teased for so long. Oh, Jimmy, it's gonna feel _so_ good, isn't it?" House could feel Wilson's cock throbbing in his hand, and thought that if he kept talking he could probably make him come without a single stroke more. Wilson, totally weak and helpless with desire could only breathe "yes" in House's ear.

"I wish I could feel it." House thrust into Wilson's hand. "Make me feel it. You come when I do."

Wilson gave him a look that was pure panic, desperation, and lust. House had never imagined in a thousand lifetimes that Wilson would ever look at him like that, and it made it that much hotter. He felt Wilson's fingers tighten around him again and closed his eyes, slipping his left arm under and around Wilson. He'd meant what he said. He really did want to feel Wilson go to pieces against him, and he hoped he could make him scream, if not his name just making him scream would do fine. Wilson's started to stroke him again, firm, slick strokes that had House moaning almost immediately. If he kept up what he was doing, it wasn't going to take long, since he'd been hard from the second he'd touched Wilson and when he'd started trying to talk him off, he'd started talking himself off too. Wilson's hand felt even better than it had the night before; apparently he was a very quick learner.

House tightened his grip on Wilson for the final time, not intending to stop this time, letting Wilson thrust into his hand as hard as he wanted. He could feel Wilson's urgency in the way he was stroking him. The closer Wilson got, the faster and harder he stroked House. House felt Wilson's hand clenching around his arm, his nails leaving crescent shaped impressions in his bicep. His breathing was sharp and uneven as he tried to hold out and wait for House. He buried his head against House's shoulder, just as he'd done the night before, pumping him harder and tighter. "_House…_", he moaned, desperate. "_Please_…I can't…"

House felt the pressure start at the base of his spine and clutched Wilson closer, cradling his head in his hand. "_Now_…come for me." Wilson thrust one final time, moaned House's name and then screamed it, his whole body going rigid against House, who had managed to wait that one glorious second longer than Wilson, just to feel him lose his mind against him.

Wilson raised his head and rolled to the side, but didn't get up and didn't retrieve his arm from around House's ribs. House looked at him and rolled over on his back as well, breathing hard. "So, Jimmy…did you like _that_?"

Wilson chuckled, almost too lazy to speak. "Since your ego must know, I've never come that hard in my life. Not even close." Wilson sat up, letting the blood return to his head before standing, leaning over and grabbing a dish towel from the kitchen and cleaning up as best he could. "I need a shower." He headed to the bathroom and came back out with a hand towel, which he tossed to House. "And so do you, probably. Just…not with me." He smiled a comfortable, mischievous smile at his best friend.

"Too bad. Because what I just did?" Wilson looked at him quizzically. "Pretty sure I can top it." Wilson rolled his eyes, more or less believing him and knowing he'd find out on a night similar to this one, just too tired to think beyond that point. He turned on the shower and stripped his pants, boxers and socks off.

"Hey Wilson!" House called from the other room, noticing it was "Wilson" when they weren't lovers and "Jimmy" when they were, while House was House all the time to him.

"What?"

"Thai, Chinese, or pizza?"

_Oh Christ, it's gonna be a long night_, Wilson thought to himself. "Whatever you want, House," he called back before stepping into the shower. It was pointless to argue anyway.


	3. Chapter 3

**3**

Nothing had really changed between them, aside from their physical interaction. There was still beer and pizza and gossip and bad TV, snide comments from House and Wilson taking the moral high ground. The exception, of course was that over the last few weeks House, ever the analytical genius, had figured out how to touch Wilson _just so_, how to play him the same way he played his piano, how to get the exact effect desired at exactly the right time, and Wilson couldn't get enough of it. He hoped tonight that House was in a mood to tease. Even though it was maddening and he'd render Wilson nearly incoherent before he'd make him beg and plead for his release, when he finally got it he swore every time that it was the best he'd ever had, and every time he was telling the truth. And just because the getting there drove him nearly crazy didn't mean that it wasn't a good thing, too. Those were Wilson's favorite times.

Of course, he also didn't mind the times that House decided to prove to him exactly what the score was, or he'd see that look in Wilson's eyes that told him he'd had just a little too much stress for the day and House would decide to be something close to nice. Those times, House could get him from completely flaccid to coming so hard his ears would ring in under five minutes. The bastard had actually timed it once, though of course Wilson hadn't known until afterwards or he'd have never let him do it (_OK, maybe I would have_, Wilson admitted to himself later). One minute and seventeen seconds. One minute. Seventeen seconds. Even Wilson himself couldn't do it that fast, and he was the one who'd been trying to figure out what he liked best since he was 14 years old and happened to rub just a little too vigorously with the soap one morning in the shower. Leave it to House to know Wilson's body better than he did himself, just to prove a point.

Wilson had given up fighting the whole thing, or even trying to convince himself he was fighting it at all. For the first week or so, he'd tell himself it was the last time, and even then, he'd know he was lying to himself. Every time House put a hand on him he'd remember how good that "last time" had been, and he'd tell himself_ just one more time_. It was a lot like the time his rabbi had told his 14 year old self that boys shouldn't desecrate their bodies, that those things should be saved for marriage. He'd said "just one more time" then, too, and that was 30-odd years ago and he was still jerking off – at least when House wasn't doing it for him, he mused with a wry grin, imagining his rabbi would turn over in his grave if he knew what little Jimmy Wilson was doing _now_. Even though Wilson had stopped trying to kid himself that this time, or the next time, or the time after that was the last time didn't mean he'd fully adjusted to the whole _thing_ between him and House, however.

They almost never kissed and when they did, one always had his hand on a naked part of the other's body. They absolutely never cuddled. Wilson wasn't sure that House would cuddle anyway, and he was equally unsure that he'd even want to, but the fact that it wasn't going to happen in the first place didn't stop Wilson from not allowing it. Whenever there was a gesture of affection between them, it was brief and decidedly masculine. There was no hand holding or gentle caresses between them, it was always a firm squeeze of a thigh or an almost-gentle pat on the back, close enough to a clap to still be manly. If either of them stayed the night, they never slept in the same bed; things were like they had always been, with the visitor sleeping on the couch. Neither of them had even alluded to other arrangements.

None of that had changed. The evening started out like it always did, or at least like their evenings had started out the past several weeks, with beer and food and then Wilson would look at House with _that_ look, not even fully aware he was doing it, and House would look back at him with a smug grin and a cocked eyebrow and sometimes Wilson would avert his eyes, other times, when he was feeling shameless, he'd actually reach for his friend, subtly, but he'd do it just the same. Those were the times that House liked best; the times Wilson would neglect his pride in trade for the way House's hands on his body felt. House never said no, never even pretended to want to, and even if he had, Wilson would have known it was a put on. After all, about half the time, if not more, House was the one who approached Wilson, although, in typical House fashion, he was anything but subtle. Truth be told, he wanted it as much as Wilson did, and more than that, he wanted Wilson's desire for him. He knew that Wilson didn't actually want _him_, that he wasn't in love with him and probably wasn't even sexually attracted to him or any other man, he just wanted the pleasure House gave him, and as long as it was only him that Wilson came to, only him that could give him what he needed, that was plenty for House because House was far from gay himself. Except for a few experiments in grad school that he could count on one hand, one of which was only to get the cheat sheet for an Endocrinology test, House loved women; always had and probably always would. But there was something about Wilson's body, solid and flat and muscular pressed against his, the way he smelled and felt and sounded that he found erotic in a way no woman match.

There was something a little different about this night, though. This had been a night where Wilson had been the initiator, and while he'd been subtle as he always was, edging just slightly closer to House on the couch, bit by bit, until House could feel the heat of Wilson's thigh against his own, when House had finally touched him, Wilson reacted with a level of excitement and passion that House had not yet seen. He seemed starved for the contact although it had been only a few nights since the last time they'd been together. He relished the gentlest touch, his whole body seemed more attuned to House's attentions than it ever had before, and House thought – although he couldn't be quite sure – that Wilson was very close to fully letting go, losing himself in the slow, rhythmic strokes of House's hand on his cock. Although Wilson wasn't touching him at all, House was getting almost as much pleasure out of watching Wilson's face, eyes closed, brow knitted and tensed with pleasure, one hand digging into his own thigh and the other resting absently on House's shoulder, watching him lost in his own little world in a state of utter bliss.

The idea came to House slowly, so slowly that it felt like it had always been there. It crept up on him with such stealth that it wormed its way past his defenses and out of his mouth so smoothly he couldn't stop it, not that he wanted to once it passed his lips. After all, it seemed the most natural thing in the world, the best idea he could have had. Wilson, on the other hand, wasn't completely convinced.

House leaned in close, sliding his free hand up Wilson's thigh and planted the idea in his ear, trying for the same subterfuge the idea had used on him. "You ever want something more than my hand?"

Wilson, nearly but not quite startled out of his state of detached enjoyment opened his eyes and looked at House, trying to pull himself back to earth long enough to focus and think. "What do you mean?"

Of course he realized there were only two other options, but he was convinced House certainly hadn't meant either one of _those_, so his rational mind was more than a little confused.

"Well…" House punctuated his introduction with a nice firm squeeze around Wilson's cock, making him swallow hard and remember what this was all about. "I'm tired of hearing second hand what a great lay you are. I was hoping to find out for myself."

It was a good thing that Wilson hadn't asked where House had gotten that idea, because he wouldn't have had an answer, just like Wilson wouldn't have had an answer as to why his left hand had crept unbidden up his best friend's thigh that first night. Instead, he asked House "Are you serious? You mean, you…" Poor Wilson. Of all the things he couldn't say or ask for when it came to his sexual situations with House, he had to screw up the courage to say this, somehow. "You wanna…fuck me?"

House noticed that as shocked as Wilson appeared to be, and probably really was, he was still hard as a rock in House's hand. He obviously wasn't repulsed by the idea. "Sort of. Other way around." He started to stroke Wilson again, tight and slow, the way that drove him absolutely insane, watching his eyes the entire time, seeing him fight between confusion, panic, and nerve-splitting pleasure. House knew that when he touched Wilson like this he could take him right up to the edge of his climax and hold him there almost indefinitely. He would alternate between begging House not to stop and begging to come. The up side of Wilson's dilemma, for House anyway, was that _both_ of those involved not stopping and he could get Wilson to do almost anything he wanted toward that end.

Wilson finally surrendered, his eyes flickering closed, and House made his move. He pulled Wilson toward him, letting Wilson's head rest partly on the back of the couch and partly on his shoulder. Even if Wilson didn't want to cuddle, he still liked to be touched and held when he was this excited. House nipped at Wilson's neck and the younger man whimpered and arched his neck, wanting more, more of everything tonight, he was so damned sensitive. House noticed his reaction and also that he never responded like this. He could always tell what Wilson liked by the cues he couldn't hide, like the speed of his breathing and his heart and the flush of his skin, and if House stumbled on something he really wanted more of, he'd moan his encouragement hoping House would get the hint, but no matter what he did, he never _reacted_, not like this and so House let his mouth linger on Wilson's throat, warm tongue and sharp teeth punctuating his words in the right places, making Wilson weak and pliant against him. "You like when I touch you this way, don't you?" House felt Wilson's cock jerk in his hand. Wilson always liked a side of dirty talk with his sex.

"You know I do." Wilson's voice was weak and wispy. This was the only thing Wilson didn't try to hide. He _loved_ this and no matter how many times House did it to him or how mercilessly he teased him, Wilson always wanted more. He'd told House once that it felt so good he could tease him for hours if he wanted to, just so he didn't stop, and House had made a mental note to try that some time.

" Now, think how much better it would feel if you were inside something tight and hot." He gave Wilson another squeeze, knowing that as long as he didn't speed up his rhythm and force Wilson over the edge, he could do this for as long as it took to what he wanted, and for whatever reason (which he'd stopped trying to figure out), he really did want it. Wilson was in need of contact tonight, and House was in a mood to be at least a little bit submissive, which he knew was normally Wilson's role. He also realized that Wilson, more than anything, wanted to please, and that was all that he needed to know.

Wilson whimpered softly at House's suggestion. "Come on, Jimmy, you haven't been laid in _months_. You need it, I can tell. And Bonnie told me you're _sooo_ good…I wanna know how good you are. I want to know everything, how you feel, how you like it. Do you like it rough and hard? No… you probably like it slow, don't you, just like this. Bet it feels good to be teased like this, doesn't it?" And as much as Wilson liked to be talked dirty to, House liked it just as much. He was getting distractingly hard, the zipper of his jeans digging uncomfortably into his erection. He shifted and palmed himself through is pants, amazed at how his body responded to his own touch. He really, really wanted this. When he'd first brought the idea up, he'd have done it out of curiosity, sure, if Wilson was game. Now, he craved it.

"Feels great." Wilson responded almost reflexively, lost in the pleasure of House's hand on him, slowly, tightly, in perfect rhythm driving him out of his mind. "But…don't…wanna hurt you." _And there it is_, House realized. _James Wilson giving serious consideration to fucking his best friend_.

House kissed Wilson gently along the jaw, right below his ear. "You won't…I trust you. You've done it before, right?"

"Yeah…with women"

"Same thing. Just go slow…just like this if you want, just the way you like it. Tease me all you want, no matter how much I beg, like I do to you. And then, once I'm used to it, it'll feel good and you can do it as hard as you need, finish us both off that way." House could almost feel it already, and _not_ feeling it was driving him as crazy as he was driving Wilson. The thought was obviously getting to Wilson, too. He was as hard as House had ever felt him, and his hand was thoroughly wet.

"House…we…I mean, I want to…but it's just…" _gay?_ Wilson thought to himself. _As though letting your best friend jerk you off on a regular basis isn't gay, jerking him off isn't gay, as long as you don't blow each other or fuck, it what? It doesn't count?_

"If you want to, then do it. I need this." House forced the knot in his throat down, not sure if it was nerves or desire or shame or all of those. "Please."

Wilson, in a matter of seconds, debated with himself. There was the fact that he wasn't gay compared with how turned on he was, how good it would feel to be deep inside another human being, how badly he needed to be close to someone, how amazing he imagined it feeling sliding himself in and out of tight, _tight_ heat, how badly he wanted to be the reason that House….

"How do you want it?"

For a breath, House was speechless. As much as he'd wanted to, as much as he'd tried, he couldn't believe he'd actually convinced Wilson – straight, womanizing Wilson who probably would have gone to his grave entirely straight if whatever planets had aligned on that night a few weeks ago hadn't aligned – to fuck him. And he was in an equal state of disbelief in regards to how badly he wanted him to.

"There's condoms and lube in the top drawer of the side table by my bed. And I always liked it standing up but…my leg…I can't with a woman because…well, you know what I mean."

Wilson was shocked with himself. He was walking into House's bedroom, something he had done a total of once before, and that was to wake House up when he'd overslept. Somehow he'd gone from that, to walking into House's bedroom to grab condoms and a bottle of lube and then he was going to head back out into the living room, bend his best friend over whatever object seemed to work best when he got there, and fuck him. _Note to self: after you're done screwing House, have him recommend his mental health professional to you. OK? OK. _

Having found what he was looking for (his arousal flagging none, he noticed), he returned to the living room. House was sitting on the couch, just as he'd been when Wilson had gotten up, seemingly oblivious to his nudity and what was about to transpire. Wilson was momentarily paralyzed, not sure what to do next, suddenly understanding that the one doing the fucking was the top, and "top" in this context pretty much meant dominant, and that surprised him even more. It wasn't so much that he wasn't a top, just that he'd never thought of House as a bottom. _So, this __**can**__ get even more weird than it already is_, he thought as he set the condom and bottle of lube on the coffee table.

"Are you absolutely sure you want this?" Wilson stared deeply into House's eyes, looking for any sign of doubt or trickery. House didn't answer, just rose to his feet and Wilson was suddenly acutely aware of the height difference between them, and then realized standing wouldn't work, but they could get close to it. He put a hand convincingly but gently on House's bicep. "Turn around and kneel down on the couch." House sucked nervously on his lower lip, glanced one more time at Wilson, and then did as he was instructed. Wilson, though he found himself wanting this as well, was thankful that at least this time, they wouldn't be face to face. If he was going to become a full-blown flaming homosexual, he was going to do it in increments.

He stood behind House and softly ran his hand down the other man's back. House startled at the contact, apparently as nervous as Wilson has been the first time House had touched him. He rested his hand on House's hip, leaning forward and brushing his lips against the back of House's neck. He seemed to remember Stacy mentioning once that if she wanted House to cater to her every whim, all she had to do was kiss him there, although Wilson had no idea if House would let _him_ do it. He didn't protest or flinch, so Wilson parted his lips slightly against House's skin and felt him sigh. He let his mouth travel slowly up to his partner's ear, hearing his breathing speed up and deepen along the way. "That's it…relax," he tried to reassure House as he reached his hand around House's hip and found him still erect. "Nice", Wilson purred as he casually teased House's member with a couple fingers, rubbing and stroking in random patterns. "You really do want this, don't you?" Instead of coming off sultry and seductive as Wilson had intended, his question carried an air of amazed but pleased disbelief.

"Of course I do, Captain Obvious. Now _hurry_. Please." Only House could be snarky during sex. He hoped Wilson didn't catch on that his snarkiness was only to try to cover up how he was veritably chomping at the bit for Wilson to take that first slow, excellently painful thrust into him, but at the same time he knew Wilson would catch on, probably already had; he knew House way too well for that one to slip past.

House's desperation turned Wilson on even more and the fact that he was trying to cover it up was even more enticing; it was further proof of how badly House really wanted this. With hands that were anything but steady Wilson took the bottle of lube in his hand, popped the top and made sure to apply enough so that everything that needed to be lubricated was lubricated. He held House's right hip gently, not wanting to startle him by just going for it, and with his left started to press gently against the spot his cock would be in just a few short minutes if all went according to plan. Which it didn't.

"Stop. Don't." Wilson froze, confused.

"Don't what?" He hadn't even done anything yet, and House had told him just seconds earlier to hurry.

"Just do it."

"You mean, without any…"

House cut him off. "I'll be fine."

"No you won't. Even if you've done this before, I'm assuming it hasn't been for a while, and you've obviously forgotten how much it can hurt if you don't –"

"Wilson, for the last time. I'll be fine. Hate to burst your bubble, but you're not _that_ big."

"Yeah, well, I'm not that small either. And need I remind you that I'm about to put my not-that-small where nothing is technically supposed to be put?"

"_James_. Just stop arguing and do it. I know what I'm doing, and I trust you do too."

House had never called him James. Never once. He wasn't even sure House referred to him as James when he was talking about him in the third person. It was always Wilson, always, and lately Jimmy at select moments, but never James. If not for the name printed on Wilson's office door, the same door House barged through on a regular basis, Wilson wasn't absolutely sure that House had ever known his first name.

Unable to say anything other than a mental _oh my god_, Wilson watched himself put the condom on and re-lube everything one more time, just to be sure. The next thing he knew, with a reassuring arm around House's waist and a murmur of barely-coherent comfort into his ear, he was an inch inside of his best friend. House sucked his breath in through teeth ground together and whined. Wilson felt him tense up, not just the muscles around the most sensitive part of his body but everywhere, even his stomach muscles under Wilson's arm.

"God, House, I told you it was gonna hurt. We don't have to do this," Wilson reassured, even as his own body was trying to tell him _yes, we most certainly do have to do this_. He found himself embarrassed of how good it felt, how tight and hot and firm House felt around him, of how badly he wanted to push the rest of the way in just to feel it all, of how he was no less aroused by House's expression of pain.

"I knew…it was gonna hurt. No way around that." House's voice was trembling, and Wilson hoped it wasn't all from pain. "Just gimme a minute. Then slow." House took Wilson's hand from off of his hip and wrapped it around his cock. He needed something to take his mind off of the strange and not yet entirely pleasant sensation of being full, and at the same time he needed something to dull the teeth of the arousal threatening to eat a hole into his brain. The first thing Wilson noticed was how House was even harder than he'd been just minutes before, and part of him hoped it was nerves rather than a reaction to the pain he had to be feeling. For some reason it was much easier to accept that House's body had just crosses his wires a little than that House liked to be hurt. Even still he started to stroke, softly, trying to soothe the pain with the pleasure of his hand, and felt House relax slightly. "Tell me when, OK?" he cooed as he planted soft kisses along the back of House's neck and down to the tops of his shoulders.

House shivered briefly and nodded. "Now. But just a little more." Wilson carefully pushed his hips forward another couple of inches in one slow, smooth motion. House took a sharp breath in but didn't tense up again. Wilson didn't move either his hips or his hand for an endless second. Eventually House exhaled and Wilson felt something about his energy change. Something gave over and surrendered, trusting and accepting and Wilson pushed the last few inches, so slowly he thought he'd drive himself crazy with the effort to hold back, but eventually he was there, sheathed completely in tight, slippery warmth. He held frozen and still, bringing his left arm up and across House, holding him securely with Wilson's left hand on his right shoulder. "You all right?" Wilson could hear his own pulse in his ears, the ticking of the clock, the wind outside the window, the neighbor's distant conversation. He was so hypersensitive and hyper-vigilant to everything he was near the point of wanting to close off to it all, nearly overwhelmed. "Yeah" House replied back, the word forced out on a frantic exhale. "Good." Wilson tongued the rim of House's ear, more gently than he'd intended, lost in heat and pleasure. "I'm all the way in…all the way inside you. And _fuck _you feel good."

House moaned softly at Wilson's appreciation and pushed back against him tentatively, testing. "Jimmy…" he sighed. "I know…I know…" Wilson reassured, not sure what he was reassuring House (or maybe himself) of but feeling the need to do it anyway as he drew back slowly and groaned in unison with House. He pushed slowly back in, watching House's reaction, careful not to move too quickly or too deeply. The sensation was almost unbearable as he eased himself back in, evenly, in one long, liquid thrust. "Aw…god…_shit_," he heard from House, the last curse something between a scream and a moan as he felt his partners internal muscles clamp down on him so tightly it was almost uncomfortable. "Shit what? That hurt or feel good?" Wilson held tighter, his thumb tracing House's collarbone, trying to get him to relax again.

"Both."

"Wanna stop?" Wilson was nearly panting with the effort to hold himself still inside House.

"No!" House realized how vehemently he'd said it and backed off his tone, trying to cancel it out. "No. You're fine. I…don't wanna stop."

Wilson loosened his arm around House and started to move again, almost gingerly, slipping himself almost all the way out before thrusting inside again where he really wanted to be, where it was so warm and tight. Wilson was grateful to House at this point for all those nights House had teased him endlessly. In the process, he'd inadvertently taught Wilson a level of control he had previously not known was possible. He became aware that he was fucking House almost the exact same way that House touched him when he did those delicious, maddening things to him with his hands, and he knew that if he could just hold himself back and not thrust any faster or harder he could do this for hours, or as long as it took to get House to the point of enjoying this. He also knew if he could figure out the right angle to hit that one right spot that point would come sooner rather than later.

Bending at the knee a little, Wilson tilted his hips and thrust upwards, looking for the mark that was supposedly about two inches in and knowing it would be obvious when he hit it. He missed entirely the first time, bending himself at a rather painful angle during the effort. On the second stroke he was too far forward and House gasped in pain rather than pleasure. The third stroke earned him nothing more than a whisper. "God…oh _god_ that feels good" and Wilson wished to that same god he could feel whatever House was feeling right then because the raw amazement and pleasure in his whisper was hotter than if House had screamed at the top of his lungs. So he did it again. And again. And one more time, just to be sure. After only three strokes, House was nearly delirious, squirming and pushing against Wilson, trying to get more contact where he needed it, his muscles all taut sinew and his breathing deep and strained, every exhale pleading with Wilson for more.

Then Wilson backed off, thrusting gently and deeply, and he knew what House was feeling then, because he started to beg. Really _beg_, the same way he made Wilson beg when he was _that_ close and House wouldn't let him go over the edge until he was nearly in tears.

"Please…", House was breathless with desire and the effort of trying to pull himself forward so Wilson's thrusts would hit a little shallower, in the hopes that he could get him to hit that wonderful spot that turned House's spine to jelly again. "Do that again."

"Do what again? This?" Wilson thrust in slowly, all the way, just as he had been, purposely holding himself far enough from his own release so he was in perfect control, but close enough so that his every move was ecstasy. House groaned as Wilson filled him again, the sensation still strange, but satisfying at the same time. "Or this?" he asked, as he felt the head of his penis slide over the sweet spot and felt House go weak against his arm. "Is that what you want?"

"_Yes._" House spoke that one word with more conviction and desperation than Wilson had ever heard him say anything else. "Jimmy…_yes_…so good…more". House was gasping for breath, so weak he would have fallen forward had Wilson not been holding him up, and Wilson found himself more than a little jealous of this sensation himself. For House to react like this, to forgo his ego in favor of more of whatever Wilson was making him feel, it had to be _good_.

"I'll give you more...," Wilson whispered temptingly in House's ear and heard the other man moan in response and anticipation. "I won't stop until you come." He slid himself again over House's prostate, and House nearly sobbed, completely overwhelmed.

"Yeah…that's it. Make me come. Please…just a little more." House was putty in his hands now.

"I will…I will. Under one condition." Wilson nibbled gently at House's ear and felt him shudder in his arms.

"Anything. I'll do anything you want. Just please Jimmy…_please_."

"Remember this. Remember how good it feels." Wilson started to rock himself back and forth deliberately over the special, sensitive place that was bending House more and more to his will with every thrust. "Remember how good I'm fucking you, remember who makes you feel this way."

"I will. God yes I will. You Jimmy. Only you. Ohmy_god_."

"That's it. That's right." Wilson thrust a little deeper with every stroke, driving himself harder over his lover's prostate each time. "Remember this the next time you want to torture me. Remember what I can give you – or what I can deny you. Remember we're even now."

"Even. I will. I promise."

"Good. I'm gonna hold you to it." Wilson pulled House tighter against him, knowing his legs, even his good leg, wouldn't hold him up much longer. "House," he whispered as he trailed his mouth down the back of House's neck, making a mental not to thank Stacy if he ever saw her again. "How close are you?"

"Soclose." House's words were coming out as one long syllable on each pained exhale.

"Touch yourself," he purred into House's ear, taking House's wrist and leading his hand to his cock. "Stroke yourself while I fuck you."

As soon as House wrapped his fingers around his cock and Wilson's hit exactly the right spot inside of him, he was coming, soundlessly, with an intensity that was nearly painful. All of his senses shut down, he heard nothing but the blood in his ears, saw nothing but random bursts of color behind his too-tightly-shut eyelids, felt nothing but pleasure he wouldn't have thought possible before this moment. Wilson felt House's muscles clamp down on him and thrust himself in as deeply as he could go, wanting to be buried in tightness and warmth as he finally allowed himself to surrender to his orgasm.

House didn't breath, move, or open his eyes in the moments after. He didn't want to come back to reality, the tingling in his body left over from the excruciating pleasure he'd had just seconds before still felt too good not to savor. Eventually, though, his lungs demanded oxygen and forced him to breathe, and he felt Wilson move and gently pull out behind him, kissing him softly behind the ear. "You OK?"

"Yeah. Fine." He steadied himself on Wilson's shoulder as he moved himself to a sitting position. Wilson started toward the bathroom to dispose of the condom and was going to sit down himself, when House stopped him dead in his tracks.

"So you were my first. Happy now?"

"What?" Wilson's heart took up temporary residency in his throat.

"You heard me."

"I thought you'd…you said that…" Wilson blinked. "I should have known you were lying. Or maybe you're lying now."

"I didn't lie then and I'm not lying now. I've been with men before. Three, actually, counting you. I've just never had sex with a man before. Just fooling around, blowjobs, things like we do…well, did, until now. One had a crush on me and wanted to suck me off. I wanted answers to an exam. So I don't know if you even want to count that one, since I didn't really _do_ anything but get my rocks off and pass Endocrinology, but…"

"House. You're an idiot. You've never…and you let me…without…"

"Didn't let you. Wanted you to. Big difference."

"You've gotta be in pain. I mean, if I'd have known…"

"I'm always in pain."

"You know what I mean." Wilson hated himself a little right then, even though he obviously had no way of knowing beforehand that House was a virgin.

"No more sore than I'd expect to be. And it was _totally_ worth it. Wow. You're even better than what they say, Jimmy."

Wilson was speechless. He didn't know if he should be touched, honored, or pissed.

"Besides, I came out ahead anyway."

"How's that, House?" Wilson was more than a little annoyed. Instead of basking in the afterglow of excellent sex, House had decided to make even the excellent sex into a mindfuck. "You lied to me, I could have seriously hurt you, and I feel more than a little guilty about that right now…so tell me. How do you have the advantage?"

"Because I've just proven to you how amazing it feels. Even the first time. So now, when it's your turn…"

Wilson buried his face in his hand. "I need a drink." Wilson skinned his pants back on and started towards the refrigerator.

"Grab me one, too."

"'Kay".

Nothing had really changed between them.


End file.
